Swan Song

by Elizabeth B. Splaine

  Ursula’s mouth opened and closed several times before she found her voice. “Willy, my goodness. I was not expecting this. I must look a fright.” She glanced in the mirror and was shocked to see her wig askew and colorful smears from her eyes to her chin. She grabbed a cloth and wiped her face, straightened her wig and then smiled. Willy remained on his knees awaiting a response.

  “Willy, please stand.”

  He obliged. “Well?”

  “You could not have chosen a more imperfect time to ask me the most perfect question in the world.”

  “I know.”

  “As you indicated, the situation in Germany is going to get worse.”

  “That is true.”

  “And you would be marrying a Jew. My marrying you would not alter the fact that I am Jewish.”

  Willy smiled. “You are correct.”

  “Even though you said that I would become ‘not Jewish’ if I married you.”

  Willy blushed. “I thought the idea of marrying me would be more appealing if you thought you were receiving a bonus.”

  Ursula playfully slapped his arm.

  “Are you sure you want to marry a Jew? It won’t be easy for you.”

  Willy wrapped his arms around her slender waist. “I am sure I want to marry the Jew standing in front of me.”

  “Our children will be mischlings of the third degree.”

  Willy drew back. “Our children?”

  Ursula twisted a loose button on his coat.

  He tilted his head, trying to catch her eyes. “Is that a yes?”

  Ursula looked up at him and smiled. “That is a definite yes, Herr Hitler.”

  ***

  Ursula stole a glance at Willy, who stood stoically in front of a scowling Otto. “Tell me, Willy, is this the way betrothal is completed in England? Not requesting permission from the young lady’s father for his daughter’s hand in marriage? I must say, son, that I am not impressed.” Otto rose from the kitchen chair and crossed his arms.

  Willy stepped forward and Ursula followed suit. “My most sincere apologies, Herr Becker. I have the utmost respect for you and your daughter. Our situation is not typical, but nothing in Germany is typical at this moment. The fact is that I love Ursula and will do everything in my power to protect her and provide for her, sir.”

  The pleading tone in Willy’s voice struck Ursula, and she felt a rush of love for him. Otto glared at Willy and then shifted his attention to Ursula. “And you, my daughter, accepting Herr Hitler’s proposal without discussing it with me. I am disappointed.”

  Ursula smiled brightly. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

  Otto narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look sorry.”

  Ursula’s smile widened. A look of consternation crossed Otto’s face, and then he broke into a lopsided grin. “Alright, enough, you two. I suppose a celebration is in order.”

  Ursula jumped up and down and clapped her hands. Willy blew out a mouthful of air and shook Otto’s hand. Ursula crossed to the kitchen cabinet and removed three of their best glasses. She filled them with water and handed them out.

  “So, you are to become Ursula Hitler?” Otto sputtered a laugh. “The irony cannot be denied. A Jew becoming part of the Führer’s extended family!” Otto raised his glass. “To the health of Herr and Frau Hitler. L’chaim!” The three of them burst out laughing at Otto’s little joke. “Prost!” Ursula announced as Willy simultaneously said, “Cheers!”

  They drained their glasses. “We need to tell your sister the good news.”

  “No,” Willy said, a little too quickly. “I think we should keep our wonderful secret among us three only, at least for a little while.”

  Otto’s face fell. “Why?”

  “Because some people might not be happy about our engagement, and I don’t want to raise their ire.” He glanced at Ursula, who smiled tightly. The silent implication momentarily dampened her enthusiasm, but Ursula was determined to continue the celebratory mood.

  “It’s alright, Papa. The three of us know, and that’s enough for now. We’ll find a way to tell Anna later.”

  Ursula squeezed Otto’s hand and he nodded. A moment later a grin replaced his worried scowl. “I’m so happy for the two of you!” he gushed.

  Willy laughed. “I must go now, Ursula, but I’ll see you soon. Thank you for making me the happiest man in all of Germany. Maybe the world!” They hugged as a beaming Otto looked on. Otto walked Willy out of the apartment and closed the door behind them so they could speak privately in the hallway. Curious, Ursula tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack so she could observe. With tears in his eyes, Otto said, “I know that you’re a good man, Willy. I trust you to take care of my Ursula. She and Anna are all I have.”

  “I know, Herr Becker, and I promise. Ursula is my world. I will do everything in my power to give her a good life.” They shook hands, and Otto clapped Willy’s shoulder.

  Otto watched him descend the stairs, then turned to find Ursula standing in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. She rushed forward and jumped into his arms, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his face repeatedly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Papa! I know that you’re not happy about Willy’s family lineage, but you have made me the happiest girl in the world!” She kissed him again and then released his neck.

  Otto looked suddenly sad. “It’s a shame we can’t share this wonderful news with Anna.”

  Ursula’s elation evaporated as she recalled her conversation with her sister at the opera house. “About Anna, Papa.”

  They reentered the apartment. Otto gathered the three glasses and placed them on the sideboard. “What about her?”

  “I’m worried.”

  Otto turned around, a confused look on his face.

  “She’s been spending too much time with the Führer. She’s changed.”

  Otto shook his head. “You know that I have no love for the man or his leanings, but he does seem to care for our Anna.”

  Ursula was shocked. “His leanings? Papa, Jews are being shipped east!”

  Otto waved his hand. “That is rumor, Ursula.”

  Ursula stared hard at Otto. “I’m not sure what’s happening to you, Papa. The Otto Becker I know would balk at the news I just shared with you. Yet you stand here and rationalize everything I’m telling you.”

  Otto dropped his gaze. “I’m scared, Ursula. I believe that the scales are tipping in Hitler’s favor and that he will become even more powerful. If that’s true, then I want my daughters protected. And what better way to be protected than by remaining close to those in power? I may not like it, but that’s the practical reality.” He glanced at her. “Where did you hear about people being sent to the east?”

  “Willy told me about places called ghettos that are being used to house Jews so that they remain away from Germany, unable to return.”

  “I have heard of them, but they are for political enemies of the Reich.”

  “You’re talking about the camps, Papa. Those are different. These ghettos are small areas that house hundreds of thousands of Jews.”

  Otto looked at her, his countenance darkening. “You heard this from Willy?”

  Ursula nodded. “He said that things will get worse for the Jews. Already you and I have seen people ridiculed and beaten in the streets, forced into humiliating situations. The Nazis want to break our spirits, Papa.”

  Ursula watched Otto process what she’d said. His face registered worry, then despair. When he spoke, the whispered words tumbled out of his mouth, jumbled on top of one another. “The Great War seems like yesterday and here we are again, embroiled in another major conflict. Hitler will not stop at ruling Europe. He will want to control Britain and maybe even America.” Otto shook his head. He reached toward Ursula and she noticed that his hands trembled. “He will cause another great war, Ursula. A world war.
We cannot have a world war. We cannot.”

  Ursula listened with a mixture of sadness, anger, loss, and fear. Her father, the rock she’d relied on her entire life, suddenly looked old and frail. His veiny hands shook with impotent frustration. He was not a young man who could take matters into his own hands. His fate, and that of his family, was at the mercy of a madman whose ego knew no bounds. But mostly it was the terror in Otto’s voice that scared her. She ran forward and grabbed his outstretched hands. “Papa, it won’t come to that. I know it won’t. It will be alright. Besides, we have Willy to take care of us.”

  Otto’s wild eyes darted around the small apartment. “And Anna has the Führer,” he said in a shaky voice.

  As much as it pained her, she could understand Otto’s perspective. But that didn’t mean that she would readily concede the point. “I suppose so, Papa.”

  Otto’s eyes found Ursula and calmed somewhat. “He cares for her.”

  “Don’t forget that he’s a monster.”

  “Who holds great power and can protect my daughter. She is safe with him.”

  Ursula remained silent. She didn’t want to trouble him further by disagreeing.

  “Now that she is Aryan, she is safe,” Otto mumbled more to himself than Ursula.

  A powerful wave of anger brought redness to Ursula’s face. “What a hypocrite Hitler is. Aryanizing her for his own amusement.”

  “He will protect her, but never marry her,” Otto muttered.

  Ursula threw up her hands. “I don’t know if that makes the situation better or worse, Papa. How do you know that he will not marry her?”

  “He told Anna that if he were to marry, he would not be able to give all of his attention to the Reich. He is already married . . . to Germany.”

  Ursula rolled her eyes. “How convenient for him.”

  “And for us, Ursula. As long as Anna is with the Führer, she will be protected. Again, ironic, but true.” Otto was quiet a moment and then sighed heavily.

  “What is it?” Ursula asked.

  “I was thinking that if your mother and Anna’s mother were alive, they would be . . .”

  “Would be what?”

  “I was going to say angry, but now I realize that they would be proud they each bore an independent, practical girl.”

  Ursula smiled.

  “My two daughters are involved with Hitler men. Who would have predicted it?”

  1941

  14

  Ursula returned from rehearsal to find Otto sitting in the middle of the living room floor, his long, spindly legs strewn awkwardly ahead of him. Surrounding him were neatly organized piles of sheets, towels, clothing, jewelry, dishes, utensils, and drinking glasses. As Ursula looked on, he counted aloud, then wrote something down. He was so involved in his work that he took no notice of Ursula’s entrance.

  “Papa, what are you doing?”

  Otto looked up and smiled. “I am taking note of our possessions.”

  “Why?”

  He removed his thick glasses, a recent gift from Willy that allowed him to see details he hadn’t enjoyed for several years. He squinted at her. “Because Adolf Eichmann has decreed that Jews living within the Reich must declare all property.”

  “Papa, that decree was made in 1938.”

  Otto looked at her with sadness in his eyes. “An SS officer stopped by, Ursula, wondering why we had not yet listed our property. Your property.”

  Ursula dropped her gaze. “I see.”

  “You must be extremely careful.”

  Ursula looked at their frugal lives strewn across the threadbare, faded throw rug. “What is the purpose of listing our possessions?”

  Otto shrugged. “I’m not sure. Perhaps the Reich wants to know our worth as the war rages on.”

  “Do you think that all of this will be sold to raise funds for the war?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Ursula. What I do know is that we will not defy Herr Eichmann, as I have seen what he does to those who defy him.”

  Ursula felt a pain in her chest as she considered the broken man before her. Once so physically and morally strong, over the last year Otto Becker had been reshaped into a reactive, obedient man. She pushed her poisonous thoughts aside. “Can I help you?”

  “No. But thank you. I’m almost finished.”

  Suddenly the door to the small apartment burst open and Anna appeared, her violin case tucked under one arm. “Hello, Papa. Hello, Ursula.” She walked past them and into the bedroom that she and Ursula shared and closed the door behind her.

  Ursula looked at Otto. “Did you notice that Anna didn’t ask what you’re doing? Perhaps it’s because she already knows and doesn’t care.”

  Otto blinked twice, then continued his task. Ursula knew that his fragile ego didn’t want to entertain her suggestion. She approached the bedroom door and paused at the threshold. Unsure why, she knocked before entering. Anna was packing a bag, humming a tune Ursula recognized as part of Bach’s Brandenburg concertos.

  “Why are you packing?”

  Anna looked up and smiled. “You should be packing as well.”

  “Why? Where are we going?”

  “To the Alps.”

  Ursula pulled a face. “I’m not going to the Alps. I have a performance this weekend.”

  Anna smiled brightly. “No, you don’t. It’s been cancelled.”

  Irked, Ursula crossed her arms. “Really? By whom?”

  “The Führer.”

  Ice crackled through her. “I don’t understand.”

  Ursula watched Anna pause and look at the ceiling, as if she were preparing to explain something to an obstinate child. Her silk skirt swished as she approached Ursula. “It’s simple. The Führer wants you to attend a weekend retreat at the Berghof with him and some of his closest acquaintances. You are to sing.” Anna nodded once to indicate that the discussion was complete, then resumed packing.

  Ursula’s stomach heaved but she forced her voice to remain neutral. “Anna, have you lost your senses? I’m going nowhere this weekend except for the theatre where I will perform Der Rosenkavalier.

  Anna barely glanced at her as she spoke matter-of-factly. “You cannot perform the opera without your tenor, can you?”

  “What are you talking about? Speak plainly or not at all.” Ursula smirked.

  Anna’s smile dropped, and her tone became serious. “Max Schmidt, Germany’s beloved tenor, has abandoned the fatherland for England, the coward.”

  Ursula’s mouth dropped open. Max had confided to her that he’d received a letter from Carl Ebert requesting he join Glyndebourne Opera. He had told her that he had no intention of going, but that was obviously a lie meant to maintain his charade until he was ready to leave. Although Ursula could understand Max’s secrecy, she felt betrayed.

  “Yes, it’s shocking that anyone would abandon the Führer just as Germany is reaching the pinnacle of greatness,” Anna commented. She resumed packing. “Anyway, your talent is no longer required at the theatre this weekend, and the Führer requires your presence at his country estate.”

  “I will not be ordered about like some lackey, Anna. I determine where and when I sing. And for whom.” Ursula turned on her heel and exited the room, slamming the door behind her. Her heart surged, and she struggled to catch her breath.

  Otto removed his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “You must go, Ursula.”

  Ursula rounded on her father. “I will not!”

  Otto raised his glasses until the light from the window shone through them. Spotting a smudge he had missed, he resumed cleaning them. “You must. If for no other reason than to protect your sister.”

  A brilliant flare of indignant fury blazed brightly in her eyes. “Papa, she has made her choices and must live with them. I am not responsible for her bad decisions. She is a grown
woman!”

  “She is twenty-one, Ursula. Did you make good decisions at that age?”

  Ursula dropped her head, remembering how little she knew of the world at that stage in her life. She wanted to protect the sister with whom she had shared a common musical dream. But this haughty, well-dressed woman who marched into the apartment making declarations did not automatically command Ursula’s loyalty and respect. She sighed deeply. “I cannot save her, Papa. She must do that herself. You said she is safe with Hitler.”

  “I did say that, yes.”

  “So why must I go?”

  Otto was silent for so long that Ursula finally sat down on the floor next to him. He carefully donned his glasses and then looked at her, his pleading eyes willing her to understand so that he need not verbalize his embarrassment.

  “Papa, what is it?”

  And then she realized with a start what his pride wouldn’t allow him to voice.

  “Oh, Papa, I’m sorry. You’re correct. I must go.”

  Otto smiled weakly as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Ursula, that you bear my weight on your shoulders. You and Anna are valuable to the Reich, but I am not, and I am afraid.”

  His eyes held such anguish that she scolded herself for not realizing the strain he’d been under. Ursula hugged him hard. “Of course I will go, Papa.”

  The door to the bedroom flung open. Anna emerged and examined the piles on the floor. “You know that you need not count my things, don’t you, Papa?”

  “I know, Anna.”

  “Because I am—”

  “Aryan. Yes, we know,” Ursula said.

  “You could be Aryan too, Ursula.”

  “No, thank you.” Then a thought struck. “But what about Papa? Could he be classified as Aryan to ensure his protection?”

  Anna tilted her head in thought. “I suppose I could ask.”

  “Would you?” Ursula begged.

  Anna smiled. “Of course. Ursula, Willy will be here soon to fetch you, so you should hurry and pack.”